


You Only Live Twice

by partnerincrime



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec has a Yam Garden, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Humor, M/M, Shadowhunter Problems, Utter ridiculousness, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 15:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12773967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partnerincrime/pseuds/partnerincrime
Summary: In which Simon Lewis becomes an entrepreneur, and, through a series of highly improbable events, fails upwardly toward success. Featuring Alec Lightwood, an angel investor, and Magnus Bane, department store owner extraordinaire of Pandemonium.So eventually, when Simon creates his first little neat invention in a series of inventions that garner international Shadow world attention and he's asked by an interviewer as to what his inspiration was, he tells them it’s two things: number one, it's about being mindful about the limited resources of the natural world, mitigating the environmental footprint the shadowhunters leave behind, and preserving what we have left for future generations. But number two, it's also about bringing back some normalcy to his life, to remind himself that, in this crazy world of angels and demons and everything in between, he's just a mundane guy living a mundane day in a mundane world, with mundane solutions to some of the Shadow world's most complex problems.





	You Only Live Twice

**Author's Note:**

> This craziness was thought up months ago, when [bumblebeesknees](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblebeesknees/pseuds/bumblebeesknees) and I were almost on opposite ends of the planet. Initially thought out to be a 1K ficlet, but now look at this monster - it was written in close to a weekend, purely so I could set up my holiday fic. 
> 
> As always, thanks to [bumblebeesknees](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblebeesknees/pseuds/bumblebeesknees) for the beta (who also feeds the flames by telling me I'm funny and laughing at my jokes).

When Simon Lewis first discovered the existence of shadowhunters and the Shadow World living right adjacent to his own mundane one, he could only describe his feelings as this percolating, intrigued denial; a ridiculous oxymoron even when he thinks about it. It's not that he doesn't believe Clary – the artsy ones always tended to err on the side of being a tad too imaginative – but he's used to Clary seeing and describing things with this whole different set of vernacular, comprised of nonsensical descriptors like "melba orange" and "quatrefoils", whatever that meant. So when she tells him that she sees "a man with a bird's crest of gold, chocolate and ice eyes, squeaky black pants, and tattoos, tattoos, tattoos" right in front of her and he doesn't, he chalks it up to the fact that they've just always just seen the world in a different ways, that it's all a matter of perspective. 

But only a couple of days after this incident with Clary, everything clicks into place for Simon when he's finally blessed with the Sight (if "blessed" is truly the right word for the context, he's still on the fence), and it comes with the realization that hey, maybe Clary isn't crazy, or maybe he's going crazy, and oh my god, this "man with a bird's crest of gold, chocolate and ice eyes, squeaky black pants, and tattoos, tattoos, tattoos" is a real person??? The realization all comes crashing down on him all at once, like a unrelenting rainstorm that leaves him frozen, wide-eyed in utter disbelief, as if the ground had been pulled right under his feet. 

Of course, it takes time for him to adjust to all of it. It takes everything in his power to act as if he's still the same old Simon Lewis, just another mundane guy living a mundane day in the mundane world. But it's hard – he's constantly bumping into downworlders nowadays – there's those faeries prancing around in Central Park doing their strange little voodoo dances, and those people who come in at 6am sit in the back corners at his local Starbucks, only to leave at closing hours? Fucking vampires. Who would have guessed? 

And don't even get him started on his own vampire thing. He's not even willing to go there. 

But once again, mundane guy living a mundane day in a mundane world. He chants it to himself like a mantra as he goes through his day, when he calls Clary on his iPhone to ask where she is, only to find out she's at the Institute (again); when he accidentally bumps into Maryse Lightwood at the Institute, who gives him the biggest sneer with just her eyebrows; when he finds himself in Dot's apartment staring at a jar of what looks like to be either marbles or frog's eyes (he really can't say); and then again, when he and Clary end up spending the later hours of the evening going to rescue Jace from a greater demon who ambushes him on his way to the convenience store, when all Jace wanted to get was a pack of gum. 

So eventually, when Simon creates his first little neat invention in a series of inventions that garner international Shadow world attention and he's asked by an interviewer as to what his inspiration was, he tells them it’s two things: number one, it's about being mindful about the limited resources of the natural world, mitigating the environmental footprint the shadowhunters leave behind, and preserving what we have left for future generations. But number two, it's also about bringing back some normalcy to his life, to remind himself that, in this crazy world of angels and demons and everything in between, he's just a mundane guy living a mundane day in a mundane world, with mundane solutions to some of the Shadow world's most complex problems. 

\--

It all started when Jace went to go get that gosh darn pack of gum.

Jace likes gum. Jace goes through packs of the stuff, the spearmint teeth whitening kind, which Simon really only thinks makes Jace look ten times more like a douchebag than he already is, because he's always snapping his gum loudly in the midst of conversation or popping a bubble in someone's face. So when Jace gets up abruptly at around 11:30pm announcing, "I need to get some more gum," then promptly sprints out of the Institute, no one at the Institute finds the occurrence weird or unsettling, it's just Jace being Jace. 

About half an hour later though, Clary gets a call from Jace, who sounds strangely out of breath.

"I need evac," he pants out, and it sounds like he's running. "My stele freaking broke when I pulled it out of my pocket and it fell – then some mundane _stepped on it_. By the angel – I just wanted some gum–" 

"Is everything alright?" Clary asks. She's already grabbing her jacket, and gesturing towards Simon to do the same. "What's your coordinates?"

"'Alright' is definitely not what I am right now – I'm literally a block away from the Institute. Actually, if you look out the window, I'm pretty sure you'll be able to tell where I am – just look for that dark ominous swirling grey cloud, which I can tell you, is not actually a cloud by the way–"

True to Jace's word, when Clary and Simon peer out of the clear part of the Institute's stained glass window, they're greeted with something that definitely looks like a dark ominous grey cloud, except that can't be a cloud – there's no such things as clouds that look like inverted twisters that's shooting jagged red bolts of what looks to be lightning ("But lightning isn't red!" Simon exclaims wildly) at a singular target on the ground. 

"We'll be right there," Clary says as she backs away from the window, simultaneously yanking on Simon's arm. Within seconds, they're running out of the Institute's front doors like two twin bullets out of a barrel – barely enough time for Simon to pocket his car keys, grab his backpack, and wave goodbye to Izzy on the way out. 

It's easy to figure out where Jace is ("Just follow the lightning!" Jace had yelled into his cell, right before the line fizzed out with a sickening crunch), and it only takes a couple of minutes to intercept Jace, right at the corner of the grassy field on the Institute grounds, used as both the Institute's training pitch and the venue for their annual summer social. Simon for once, isn’t even winded by the sprint over – he relishes in the fact that he's left Clary in the dust, inhuman speed being one of the only positive perks of vampirism – it's nearly enough to replace all those terrible memories of high school gym class where he'd collapse two laps in, begging for water and his inhaler. Almost.

On the other hand, when they see Jace, he's visibly run ragged –understandably so as he's been running continuous loops around the Institute, keeping the greater demon surprisingly distracted for the past fifteen minutes (without his heightened speed or stamina rune, Clary reminds Simon, but this means nothing to him; it's not a struggle that he can relate to, these "shadowhunter problems"). 

Clary tosses Jace the spare seraph blade she brought with her, and he catches it expertly by the handle, both in mid-air and mid-run. Jace finishes off the whole exchange with a summersault, landing neatly in a crouched position, arms spread eagle wide – and all Simon can do is give a sardonic chuckle and think to himself they've definitely practiced this – the whole thing was so comically perfect, he's pretty sure they've lifted this action sequence straight out of Wolverine or something. 

"Finally. You guys took your damn sweet time." Jace says, as he gives a wink to Clary and she giggles.

Simon wretches in his throat. _Ugh._ Definitely practiced. 

When Clary finally gets all the giggles out of her system, she asks Jace, "So what are we up against?"

As if on cue, a deafening crack echoes through the night, a streak of hot lightning splitting the sky in two and crashes like a waterfall into the ground, a show of red sparks and sizzling energy exploding around them. It's only when the dust settles and clears that the three are them are greeted with the sight of a waif-thin man decked out in a hot-pepper red suit, black tie, greasy gelled-back hair, with eyes a piercing blood-red – standing innocently on the pitch. 

Once again, Simon is easily struck by how cliché all of this is that he has to hold his laughter in – this almost cartoonish caricature personification of the devil, only missing his horns and his tail. 

He stops his internal laughing though, when the man shoots a beam of what can only be red lightning towards them, and they all dodge out of the way.

"Greater demon," Jace explains, once again short of breath from the perfect back flip he's executed. "I bumped into him at the convenience store – I accidentally told him that cinnamon gum is the nastiest of the flavours and he took a real big offense to that." He gives both Clary and Simon a sheepish grin. 

_Fucking shadowhunters._ Simon curses under his breath, as Clary gives Jace a consoling pat on the shoulder.

"Okay, let's get to it then," Clary says as she points her seraph blade towards the man in the red suit. She feels at her back pocket with her other hand, but then freezes. "Shit, I forgot my stele."

And Simon – Simon can't believe the nerve of these people he's decided to associate his life with. _Fucking shadowhunters!_

\--

Luckily they all get out of the encounter relatively unharmed, body parts all still attached (except for Jace's dignity, when he's forced to admit that cinnamon isn’t _that_ bad, still steps up from bubblegum and tropical fruit, which, in turn, makes the greater demon, Cecil, cackle in delight and eventually go away). 

But Simon is still fuming about the whole incident. He would think that shadowhunters, a centuries years old cult or whatever, would have gotten this down to a pat, designing steles that don't break upon being subject to 500 pounds of force from a human step. Also, shouldn't there be a process you have to go through before you enter battle, a mental checklist of your inventory and battle weaponry you have to bring? Seraph blade. Check. Cellphone. Check. Bandages. Check. Stele? Big fat zero. Granted he'll excuse Clary from this, because she is his best friend and she's new to all of it, but still. The whole ordeal is, in some shape or form, the Clave's fault and their unchanging ways, he knows it is. 

So when he gets home that night, to his cozy little boathouse near the Jade Wolf, he doesn’t go to sleep immediately. He goes over to the work bench and pulls up a chair, throwing the pieces of Jace's broken stele onto the worn surface. He puzzles them together for a couple minutes, but then when he's done, he just sits there in silence, staring at it, wheels turning in his head. 

And then suddenly, the lightbulb goes off and Simon Lewis gets an idea. 

\-- 

Simon isn’t one to call himself particularly focused – he's got the attention span of a gnat sometimes, admittedly gullible and always looking for the next hottest thing. But when Simon gets into something, he really gets into it – to the point of obsession that Clary has to check in on him every couple of days to ensure that he's still eating and breathing and surviving, and that he hasn't blown all his life savings on non-essentials. And it does, in retrospect, explain a lot about him – his collection of iPhones 3 through the 6S, several still shiny and new in its packaging, and the eight different iterative names his band has gone through. 

So it must be normal, he thinks, when he locks himself away for two whole days in his musty boathouse, tinkering at the workbench, living on his remaining stash of instant noodles and the Bunsen burner that he forgot to return to his high school chemistry class. 

Clary evidently gets concerned when she doesn’t hear from him and decides to call him, just to check in. "Hey Simon, where you at? I haven’t gotten a text from you in a couple days."

"Clary. CLARY. I need to meet you right now," Simon says absently into the phone. He runs frantically about his room searching for his bag and a folder, stubbing his toe on the work bench as he runs pass. "OW, one sec." 

"Of course – hey, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm alright. Better than alright, actually. STELLAR, I would even say. I just created something – something magical." He finds his bag, and starts unceremoniously stuffing papers and materials into it. 

Simon can hear Clary hesitate over the phone. "Are you… are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, promise. Just meet me in like, 15 minutes okay?"

Clary promises, right after Simon promises to Clary that he's not high and he's not experiencing some weird lingering psychological aftereffects from his vampiric transformation. He's previously confirmed with Raphael that the latter doesn’t happen anyways. But Raphael seems like the kind of guy who would fuck with Simon just because he could, so who knows.

Fifteen minutes later, Clary and Simon meet at the Java Jones. 

"Sooo… what's up?" Clary says as they slide into their favourite booth and she starts shrugging off her jacket. 

"This, Clary, look at this masterpiece." He waves something excitedly in her face.

"... Do pray tell Simon, what the heck is that?"

"I call it the stele dongle," he says proudly. (He's half convinced he's included the word 'dongle' in the name purely for the entertainment value that comes with stone-faced shadowhunters using the word 'dongle'.)

[What Simon holds in his hand essentially looks like a badge clip, the kind with the round circle that hooks into a belt loop, with a retractable string that's currently attached to a pen.](https://www.staples.co.uk/content/images/product/GenesisExtraLarge/60/81/asset.3136081.jpg) Admittedly, even to Simon, he knows that it isn't a masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination – but it's his prototype, it's his baby, and it’s the best he could do with what he had in his boathouse. 

Clary hesitates, before she says, "Simon… it looks kinda just like a badge clip to me."

"Clary, don’t you see? Here, give me your stele." 

She warily hands over her stele and Simon demonstrates, hooking the round bit into one of the loops of his jeans, and unlatching the pen to insert the stele into the crudely modified clip. He pulls at the stele, the retractable string evident, as he brandishes it a couple of times for dramatic effect, then lets go. It snaps back to his side. 

It is essentially, a badge clip for steles. 

Clary sighs. Simon can only categorize that sigh as fondness. He pulls at the stele and waves it in front of her again – they've known each other for close to twenty years that he knows Clary just needs a tiny bit of convincing to get her onto his side – she'll come to see things from his perspective, she always does.

And it happens, after twenty minutes of them just sitting in their booth at the Java Jones with Simon gesticulating all over the place, punctuating his statements of "imagine, a world with retractable steles that come right back to you, like Pokemon," and "you'll be a wizard, Clary!" with several flourishes of the stele. It's only then does Clary get it, and she finally says those magic words. 

"Actually, now that I think about it, you might be onto something. Let me call some people." 

Then he's off. 

\--

The next two months pass by in a blur for Simon, a succession of meetings with Dot and an Iron Sister, Sister Shantal, to work out the kinks of his design and refine the manufacturing process. It’s to the point where all Simon can think about this little project of his, nicknamed the stele-don (it sounds like a badass dinosaur, he loves it) – it's the first thing he think of as soon as he wakes up and it’s all he can think of when his head hits his pillow, haunting his dreams. 

With Dot, he works on making the retractable string not actually a string, tethering it with some sort of warded invisible magic and it's just so freaking cool. She's surprisingly receptive to the whole entrepreneurial endeavour from the get-go, clearly affected by the emergence of Simon's previously non-existent drive, and of course, she adores him. Dot also turns out to be a fantastic graphic designer, and she designs the sickest logo ever (and at Simon's incessant badgering, yes, if you squint, it kind of looks like a dinosaur). 

With Sister Shantal, he works on forging a stronger barrel in the latch and improving the ability to recall the stele by keying into the magnetic properties of adamas. While he only ever meets Sister Shantal once, he has stars in his eyes the whole meeting and he listens to her word like gospel, learning everything he would possibly need to know about adamas, including its boiling point (close to 5000 degrees), its mining practices, and did you know that lost and destroyed steles account for approximately 16.7% of the world's adamas wastage? Mind-boggling. 

When the first stele dongle rolls off the metaphorical assembly line and arrives at his boathouse via fire message, wrapped tightly in simple brown paper and his name scrawled on the attached card in Dot's looping font, he runs inside and goes to sit at his workbench to go open it. He immediately tears into the packaging. 

There's a moment of stillness when he finally sees it, and this swell overtakes him, as if the air has been sucked out of lungs, and all his feelings rush to some indescribable place in his chest, punctuated loudly by the quickened beating of his heart. Then he proceeds to just stare at it, stare at it again for about another ten minutes, and he knows he's just staring at it, but he can't help it. _Stele dongle._ He picks it up with gentle fingers, tracing over the embossed logo, and all he can think is that he's just so fucking proud. 

Then he gets up, latches in an on-loan stele, courtesy if Clary, and clips the stele dongle to one of jean loops. He then proceeds to pretend he's a Zorro-equivalent of a shadowhunter, running around his warehouse and pretending to vanquish imaginary demons left, right, and centre, from the demon that hides behind the boat rack in the one dark corner he's always been afraid to check, to the demon that's hiding in his makeshift coat closet. 

So what, if he's two thousand dollars down the hole, doesn't have a proper job, and hasn't cooked a proper meal in two months? He's so proud, the rest of it all just doesn't matter. 

The next day, he heads over to an arts and crafts store to buy a shadowbox frame. He mounts the first prototype of the stele dongle inside (it's at this stage that he's finally ready to admit that it was just a badge clip for steles), and hangs it right in front of his canoe bed.

He proceeds to give the first ever stele dongle to Clary. She tells him she loves it and gives him the biggest hug, telling him in his ear that she's so proud of him as they embrace. 

He gives the second one to Jace because he's whiny and petulant, and says that he won't save Simon next time if he doesn't get one next.

Simon's glad to give it to them though – he doesn't need any more repeats of the gum incident. Also, Clary and Jace, being the poster children of the New York Institute who unquestionably get into the most trouble wherever they go, act as fabulous walking and talking promotional vehicles – it's only a matter of time in which Raj comes by, and not-so-casually asks him if he could get one made for him too. 

A month later, Simon is charging $700 a pop (shadowhunters were absolutely terrible with money), he's paid the remaining bit of his university loan in full, and for the first time in his life, he's paid his credit card bill _on time_. It's all very great.

Another month in however, Simon realizes he may in fact have a problem because he's suddenly overwhelmed the sheer volume of orders he's getting – tons of them, his boathouse is an administrative nightmare – that even Maryse begrudgingly comes to speak to him _in person_ , to see if she can somehow expedite her own stele dongle, and get off the over a hundred-person long waiting list. 

"I don't know what to do, guys," Simon says as he buries his head in his hands. He, Clary, Izzy, and Jace sit around a table in the Institute's cafeteria . "I can't keep up with the demand… I think I need to hire more people or something – Dot's swamped, and I don't want Sister Shantal to get mad at me… they love me! I just don't have the funds or the time to do it all." He lets out a long, muffled groan. 

Jace raises an eyebrow at him. "Are you complaining about being successful?"

Simon bangs a fist on the table. "I'm getting orders from shadowhunters from Luxembourg for goodness sakes!"

Izzy and Jace share a look.

"I think…" Izzy starts, "I think we may know someone who can help you out."

\--

It's only in passing in which Simon has previously heard tidbits about Alexander "Alec" Lightwood from Izzy and Jace, and it's often along the lines of "Sorry, I can't make it to dinner tonight – I have plans with Alec!" or "Oh man, if Alec saw what you just did there, he'd have thrown a fit!" respectively. 

And it for sure, has never been, "oh yeah, hey Simon, my brother is a billionaire who, at age ten, earned his first million on the mundane stock exchange, and then at age fifteen, took it upon himself to set up the framework for the Shadow world's very own stock exchange, and then started his own bank to facilitate Shadow world currency? Who, by the way, now spends his time as an angel investor working with any deserving young entrepreneurs with good ideas?" 

Yeah. Funny how that never came up.

So yeah. The Shadow world was surprisingly financially literate with currency, banks, and its own stock exchange called "The Shadow World Exchange" (or TSWE for short – somehow seamlessly integrated with mundane global exchanges, in which all mundanes somehow thought this was the other, _other_ Toronto venture exchange), all coincidentally set up by Izzy and Jace's brother. Who knew?

And to top it all off, in addition to Alec Lightwood impressive resume of achievements and accolades, he’d had also been Jace’s parabatai this whole time and a shadowhunter no less – he had apparently been an amazing archer with the cleanest mission track record, and was even the head of the New York Institute for a couple of years. He had called it quits at the tender age of 24 however, when he had enough of the Clave’s incessant meddling and got fed up with the politics of it all. 

Izzy tells Simon that it's all fine now, though. At first, Maryse had been very angry, verbal jabs in the halls and heated arguments over the dinner table, with phrases like "What about tradition, Alec?" and "Your ancestors are rolling in their grave, Alec," thrown all over the place. But Maryse immediately clammed up and wished Alec all the best after Alec sat her down one day, and reminded her that only he knew what the New York Institute's stock portfolio diversification strategy was, the only TSWE portfolio that survived the crash of '08, generating a remarkably healthy 3.8% return. 

“Big bro is a sweetheart,” Izzy says as Simon stands in front of the portal to Idris, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot. Both Izzy and Jace had easily shoehorned an opportunity for Simon to meet Alec at his house, a cabin tucked away in one of the small forests a couple of kilometres away from the outskirts of Alicante. Alec had become somewhat of a recluse in the past year, preferring the quiet solidary that Idris had to offer over the daily hustle and bustle of New York. 

"Just don't say anything stupid," Izzy adds, patting Simon on the shoulder for good luck. 

Jace laughs from somewhere behind them, in clear disbelief. 

\--

When Simon steps through the portal to arrive in Idris under the safe cover of night, he’s deposited at the stoop of Alec’s cabin – and to Simon’s complete surprise, it’s actually this tiny one-story, little cabin – complete with a couple of large floor-to-ceiling windows, and the rest of the exterior walls covered in dark, wood cladding that sends the smell of fresh pine permeating the air. It’s nothing what Simon expected – aren’t all venture capitalists supposed to be big spenders who love dropping hot stacks on extravagant things? Instead of a three-door garage, all he sees is just a huge heap of piled up firewood ; when he peeks the corner to glimpse at Alec’s Olympic-sized swimming pool, he’s sorely disappointed when he’s greeted with a sprawling garden instead. 

Simon climbs the steps slowly, then titters nervously in front of the door, looking for the doorbell. _Is he supposed to knock?_ He stands in front of the door for a solid minute, takes a deep breath, but then opts to go over the lines of his sales pitch once again. _Have you ever dropped your stele in the midst of combat and were too embarrassed to pick it up? Have you ever lost your stele and had to pay that ridiculous replacement fee to your Institute to get a new one? If this sounds like you, then look no further – the stele dongle is for you!_

He’s interrupted however, when he hears someone yell from inside, “The door’s open, you can come in.” 

Simon’s stomach churns – he wants to throw up.

But instead, he steels himself and enters as quietly as he can, gently closing the door behind him. When he turns to face the room, he’s once again surprised – it’s simply furnished with a fireplace crackling merrily on his left, while almost every other available wall is lined with books. It’s all very surprisingly cozy and quaint. Definitely not venture capital-y. 

“Give me a moment, I’m in the kitchen,” the voice says, echoing from somewhere behind the wall to the left. 

Simon, at this point, doesn’t know what to do with himself as he stands awkwardly in the corner of Alec’s living room. He is itching for something to keep him distracted, something to keep him pre-occupied, before he forgets his sales pitch, forgets all his facts, and pisses his pants out of nervousness. 

So what does he do? He does what he does best – he snoops. 

Simon starts with the bookshelves. He peruses the spines, and the range of topics are immense – from shadowhunter lore to magic to gardening to finance, it’s a library tucked into the walls of this very cabin. Next, he looks out the patio doors and just sees a dug-out yard, surrounded with orchards of fruit trees, and a greenhouse erected in a corner. He then stops in front of a white board, full of illegible scrawl, in which simple strip magnets hold up pictures and letters in the corner – he spots a letter inviting Mr. Lightwood and his esteemed guest to the annual TSWE gala (there’s a sticky note on top saying ‘Tell Izzy’), a picture with childish scrawl on the top, thanking Mr. Lightwood for always visiting (there’s a sticky note on top saying ‘Visit Madzie’), and also a photo pinned of a man, who clearly must be Mr. Lightwood, who has his arms over Izzy and Jace’s shoulders with the biggest grin on his face.

Simon is startled out of his snooping when someone touches his shoulder and says, “You must be Simon.” 

Simon jumps, and as he turns, he immediately launches into his practiced sales pitch, voice embarrassingly high and squeaky, “Mr. Lightwood, have _you_ ever dropped your stele in the midst of combat–” 

“Hey, calm down. Just call me Alec,” the man interrupts as he puts down a plate of cut apples and a glass of water on the dining table to hold out a hand. The man is dressed in a ratty black t-shirt and sweat pants, a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder and his feet bare. He gestures to one of the chairs. “Sit.”

Simon sits.

Alec also sits, and pushes the plate of apples and the water towards Simon. He says, “I’ll admit, I was intrigued when Izzy and Jace told me a vampire created this…”

“Stele dongle,” Simon helpfully supplies, offering one of the aforementioned dongles as tribute. One of Alec’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline at the invention name, and Simon’s instant reaction is to reach for the glass of water to swallow the building lump in his throat. 

“Okay. Stele dongle.” Alec says. He pauses, as if he’s reconsidering having Simon in his house, right then and there. He gives the stele dongle a once over, before fixing Simon with a steely look. “Look, all you need to do is just tell me what it is, what it does, and how it works. None of this _‘have you ever dropped your stele’_ bullshit, you understand?”

So Simon begins from the top, telling Alec the truth of how the stele dongle came to be. He tells him about Jace and Clary being utter idiots , about how Dot used her magic to help with the tethering of the stele, and how Sister Shantal helped him harness the magnetic properties of adamas. Alec’s clearly got an environmental streak in him, evident since his eyes light up when Simon says, “And it’s crazy – the fact that lost and destroyed steles account for approximately 16.7% of the world's adamas wastage.”

“Tell me about it,” Alec says as he glances mournfully at his white board, “Adamas mining stocks have been tanking lately, just because so many of those companies aren’t focused on the right things. Sustainability and a game plan for the future are key,” and then Alec proceeds to lecture Simon on several things, including three up-and-coming eco-friendly technologies to mine adamas, various environmental grants that the stele dongle could apply for, and the importance of taking care of mother earth. 

“So… is that why you built your house here?” Simon asks, genuinely curious.

There’s an awkward silence before Alec turns to look out one of his large windows. “The soil here is perfect for growing root vegetables. Especially yams,” Alec murmurs quietly, as he eyes his garden. 

Fuck. Alexander Lightwood, the Shadow world's most enigmatic and elusive bachelor, grows _yams_. 

But then Alec does an immediate one eighty, and it’s as if that bit of conversation didn’t happen – he’s suddenly back to business. 

Alec quizzes Simon on his revenues, his costs, and his margins. He asks about his production process, if there’s any litigation pending, and sighs resignedly when Simon says he hasn’t even looked into patenting the stele dongle yet. “And your distributors?” Alec asks. 

“…Distributors?” Simon repeats.

“Yeah, who do you sell to?”

“Well… people just e-mail me at steledongle@gmail.com.”

“Okay, but you’re clearly pushing at your capacity constraints. If you’re planning to scale, you need a distributor.” Alec is pensive for a moment, then suddenly grabs a sticky pad and pen from the table. He scrawls something on the top before sliding it over to Simon. “Look, I believe in your idea and I’m willing to offer you a deal. You just need to do a couple of things: one, find a distributor. Two, let me be on your board. Three, patent. Four, let me have first dibs on any future inventions you come up with. And five… oh yeah, five. Change the name.”

Simon eyes the sticky note. His eyes grow wide. “Um… how many… zeros for my company??”

Alec taps a finger on the table, irritated. “I’m sure you can count them, Simon. And that’s not for 100% of your company, it’s just for 30%.” 

Simon can feel his jaw hit the floor. “I… I–” Then he stops. “Hey, no, wait a minute. Drop one zero, and let me keep the name.” 

Alec sighs again as he gets up, gesturing for Simon to do the same. “Fine, deal. You can keep the name, just do the other things.” 

It’s getting late so Alec tells Simon that he should start heading home. Before Simon leaves though, Alec insists on giving him a tour of his vegetable garden and his greenhouse, and only lets him go after he loads Simon up with his own basket of fresh produce. 

“Send me a fire message when you find an interested distributor,” Alec says, as he leans against his front door’s frame with his arms crossed, right before Simon is about to step through the threshold of the portal. “We’ll go meet them together.”

“Will do, Mr. Lightwood.” Simon salutes at him.

The last thing that Simon sees before he’s teleported back to the Institute is Alec sighing, and putting a hand to his temples.

\--

“How did it go?” Izzy asks as Simon pops through the portal, back at the New York Institute. She and Clary are waiting for him even though it’s close to 2am, both hard at work painting their nails. 

“I think it went… okay. He said he was willing to buy 30% of my company, but I need to do a couple of things. We talked a lot about adamas and the impact on the environment. And he showed me his garden.” Simon holds up his basket of vegetables, which of course, includes Alec’s legendary yams. 

“By the angel, _Alec_ ," Izzy grits out, sounding somewhat frustrated. "Did he give you his 20-minute speech on perfect soil composition and rainwater pH?"

“Yeah, he did,” Simon says, fatigue catching up to him. He pulls up a chair next to Clary, and ungracefully thunks his forehead on the table. The bottles of nail polish jump on impact.

“Hey, watch it. But that’s good! That means he doesn’t hate you,” Izzy says cheerfully, as she blows on her nails. “He doesn’t like a lot of people.”

“But he said I need a distributor…” Simon says, muffled. His forehead is still glued to the table. 

“Distributor?” Clary asks. “Like a store that will want to sell your stele dongle?”

Simon groans out a ‘yes’. 

“Well… the best place would probably be Pandemonium. Everyone shops there,” Izzy says, as she admires the intricate design of Clary’s nail art, swirling mosaics of glittering gold and deep cherry-red. “They sell the coolest things. You know they have these rune-inspired nail kits, made with real witchlight?” Clary oohs in response. 

Simon turns to face Izzy, one of his cheeks smushed against the table’s cold metal surface, as he asks, curiously, “What’s _Pandemonium_?”

\--

If you haven't heard about Pandemonium, the hottest department store in the Shadow world, you've either been living under a rock, or you're a recently turned vampire who's only just discovered the existence of angels and demons in the past six months. 

“Close your eyes and imagine what heaven would look like. Now pretend that heaven is fifteen stories tall. Now take those fifteen stories, fill it with everything you could ever possibly think of, and then cram it all into a blinged-out castle,” Izzy says, as she throws a brick of a catalog onto her bed. Simon and Clary bounce on impact as it lands squarely between them. “That’s Pandemonium.”

Simon eyes the catalog suspiciously. The fact that the store is called Pandemonium yet Izzy referred to it heaven? The irony isn’t lost on him. 

Izzy then proceeds to launch into an extensive history lesson on the origins of Pandemonium, massive catalog in hand, starting from its humble roots as a trading company primarily dealing in beaver pelts and artisan hats – how it then abruptly transitioned over to live shows and theatre in the 1800’s heyday of vaudeville, and then how it flourished under the rule of the crime boss Giovanni Guarino (who, rumour has it, took a very keen interest in more than just its owner’s wares, _if you know what I mean_ ) to become the Shadow world's largest and most prolific department store today.

“I think the owner, Magnus Bane, used to travel all over the world or something. He’s got exquisite taste,” Izzy says, as she runs a finger over the spread in the catalog, tracing over the shoes on the page with clear want.

“Magnus Bane?” Clary’s ears perk up. “I've heard that name before. I think he’s Dot’s acquaintance.”

And the next thing Simon knows, Clary is on her phone calling Dot.

Dot must be something more than just an acquaintance of Magnus' because she easily is able to get Simon a meeting with Magnus in the upcoming week. It truly is a miracle – when Simon had previously attempted to get in contact with Magnus himself by simply dialing the number listed under the Pandemonium’s ‘Contact Us’ page, all he got on the other end was a woman’s amused (and highly unprofessional) laughter, who had then, after gasping for breath, told him to “try again in another two years, sweetie,” and then hung up. 

Even before Simon heard the dial tone, he had already browsed over to the “We want to hear from you!” section and was two paragraphs deep into a scathing customer complaint. 

But despite being probably blacklisted in the Pandemonium database for being 'unserviceable', he's somehow still managed to score this impossible meeting with Magnus Bane on a Friday at 3pm. He doesn’t stop thanking Dot with every fiber of his being as he rides the elevator up to Pandemonium's penthouse suite, as he pushes past the doors, and with each passing step he takes on the plush runner carpets that lead him straight into Magnus' office. 

Magnus Bane’s office is curious thing, an oddity with its decidedly eclectic décor, yet somehow it all works – from the heavy oil paintings that decorate the walls to the whimsical trinkets on his desk, there’s a Rococo extravagance to the room that Simon can’t exactly place. When Simon enters, he almost misses Magnus entirely as his attention is caught elsewhere, pulled in all different directions by the explosion of colour and patterns and prints that clash perfectly together, an utter assault on the senses, in that Magnus nearly blends into the room himself. 

“Simon Lewis, I presume?” Magnus gets up to shake his hand. “Dot tells me… things about you.” 

Magnus Bane looks exactly the same as pictures on the Pandemonium website, even though those pictures were clearly taken at least fifty years ago, grayed out, and faded with age. The Magnus of today however, is decked out in a billowing maroon tunic lined with intricate bronze buttons, adorned with stacks on stacks of necklaces and bracelets and rings. When Magnus blinks, Simon’s attention catches on the shimmer of Magnus’ eyeshadow (which Simon swears is the exact same colour as Magnus’ buttons) – and all Simon can think of is ‘shiny’, hoping that this won’t distract him when he’s three-eighths into his sales pitch. 

Simon doesn’t verbally say anything in response to Magnus, and instead, opts for a solemn nod. That’s all he can do right now, to suppress his ever-growing need to throw up. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” Magnus waves a hand and a glass of amber liquid appears in Simon’s grasp. “Drink?” Magnus offers. 

Simon, never one to refuse a free drink, chugs it down heartily. The burn is strong as he swallows, and he croaks out, "My associate will be here any minute now," as he sinks into an upholstered seat. 

"Great, great." Magnus glances up at the Dali-inspired melting clock hanging behind Simon, before looking at him expectantly. 

Simon pretends to not acknowledge the look, and instead, favours tracing the grain lines in the cherry wood of Magnus' executive desk.

Minutes tick by. Magnus lets out a cough. "How about you just get started first?"

"… If you insist," Simon says reluctantly as he grabs at his glass again, then downs the rest of his drink in one ferocious gulp. Liquid courage always helps get over the nerves, right?

As Simon clutches the now empty glass tightly in his hand, he huffs out a long breath. He whispers to himself, "[mom's spaghetti](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Yhyp-_hX2s)," and then begins. "Have you ever dropped your stele in the midst of combat and were too embarrassed to pick it up? Have you ever lost your stele–?”

"Pause for one moment," Magnus interrupts him, holding up a hand. "What's a stele?"

And from that question onwards, everything goes downhill for Simon. 

Simon begins from the place he always begins, attempting to recount that same familiar story – how Clary and Jace were being stupid and irresponsible, about being chased by a terrifying, albeit strangely good-humoured, demon, and his overall frustration associated with this incident – but Magnus just doesn't get it. There are a lot more questions about the narrative integrity of Simon’s tale, and much more explaining to do on Simon’s part about what a stele is, what it does, and “are shadowhunters really that useless without it?”

However, Simon can empathize with Magnus' confusion because Magnus is completely right; it’s the fact that these “shadowhunter problems” are so universally non-relatable that it shouldn’t be the case that a downworlder has to care about whether you can find your stele or not. They shouldn’t give a flying shit! Shadowhunters be shadowhunters and in some way, shape, or form, they’re all pretentious assholes deep down inside (sorry, Clary). 

Simon is halfway through his sales pitch when this unfortunate realization hits him square in the face – and it makes his voice start to waver, to the point where he’s practically blubbering through the last couple of sentences of his speech. “And… did you know that lost and destroyed steles account for approximately 16.7% of the world's adamas wastage?” he finishes weakly.

The expression on Magnus’ face can only be described as pitying. 

"Listen, you seem like a sweet guy with the best of intentions. I always appreciate young innovators like you, with all that passion and drive, but this… stele dongle thing really isn't something that I foresee being a hit with our clientele–"

"Sorry I'm late," says a voice from somewhere behind Simon's back, slightly out of breath. "New York traffic is always a thing of nightmares, especially when all you have is your brother's terrible ten-speed."

It's _Alec_. Thank god. 

"Ah yes, Magnus, my associate, Alec L– " Simon starts, only to nearly spill the contents of his magically refilled drink all over his lap when he turns around. Holy fucking shit, is that yam-loving Alexander Lightwood in a goddamn suit? 

"Your _potential_ investor, you mean. Potential being the key word here," Alec says as he plops down in the seat next to Simon, adjusting the lapels of his blazer and running a hand through his hair. "What did I miss?" 

"You've missed nothing important – Pandemonium is just about to partner with stele dongle," Magnus quickly says. "Hi, by the way. I'm Magnus." Magnus gives Alec a blinding smile that’s all teeth, flirtatious and laden with salacious intent. 

Simon frowns. He’s happy that his pitch totally worked out and all, but Magnus didn’t even smile at him when they first met. 

“Alec,” Alec says as he reaches over the desk to shake Magnus’ hand. “I’ll admit, when Simon told me he secured a meeting with you, I didn’t believe him at first. You’re a hard man to get a hold of.”

As Magnus eagerly takes Alec’s hand into his, he says, “Well, you know. I just need the right incentive and I’ll be wherever you want me to be.”

Magnus and Alec lock eyes as their hands clasp tightly together, not letting go. They stare deeply at each other. It’s the longest handshake that Simon has borne witness to, and quite frankly, he finds it a little bit awkward. Simon’s eyes dart between the two of them, left then right then left, before he decides to help them out, break them out of this embarrassing situation they’ve gotten themselves into. He whispers, “So… the stele dongle…” 

Upon realizing that Simon is still there, Magnus and Alec quickly let go of each other. Alec clears his throat and says, “Yes, the stele dongle. What are your terms, Magnus?” His eyes trace the curve of Magnus’ mouth. 

Magnus is coyly playing with his ear cuff and he turns to face Alec directly, boxing Simon out of his view. “I’m thinking about 5,000 units as a preliminary run, then we go on from there? I’d also like to monitor your sales as _closely_ as possible.” 

“You can be on the Board!” Simon says excitedly, butting in. He wants to be part of this conversation, goddamn it!

Both Magnus and Alec barely acknowledge him, still looking at each other intently. 

“You should be on the Board,” Alec says as he wets his lips. “I’m on the Board.”

“I think I’d like that.” Magnus’ eyelids slide to half-mast. “How often do you meet?”

“Uhh… quarterly?” Simon looks at Alec for assistance, but Alec’s… distracted. 

"Quarterly?” Magnus repeats. “Don't you think that weekly meetings would be more effective? Here at Pandemonium, we have a culture of constant, _thorough_ communication – we always like to go through the proper channels.” 

Simon nods vigorously. He’s about to tell Magnus that he completely agrees, but he stops himself when he realizes that Magnus isn’t even talking to him. 

“Sure, that’ll work with me,” Alec says, as he pulls out his Blackberry . “What do you usually do? Phone call?”

“I always prefer one-on-one, in person, meetings. You can get straight into the _hard stuff_ , and you can get _so much more_ done.” As Magnus says this, he directs a heavy look in Alec’s direction, before he pulls out his own phone to presumably check his own schedule. 

Alec flashes a small grin before turning back to his own phone. “Hmm... let’s see here. What about Tuesday at 11am, at your office, Magnus? If you wouldn’t mind?” Alec’s dexterous fingers fly over his keypad and Magnus looks up hungrily to watch the display. 

“That sounds perfect,” both Simon and Magnus reply in unison.

“Great. It probably won’t take much longer than 30 minutes, right? I want to check in on Izzy and Jace at lunch,” Alec sheepishly says, as he pockets his phone and starts to stand. Simon feels a vibration in his own pocket, most likely from the calendar invite that Alec has just sent out.

“It’ll be quick and dirty, I promise,” Magnus says easily, and Simon chokes. 

“Well,” Simon says as he mimics Alec and also stands, dusting himself off of both the invisible lint and the stray sparks of Alec and Magnus’ unresolved sexual tension, “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

Magnus' eyes are gleaming. "Absolutely. Let me just be the first one to say that I'm extremely excited about this, and I'm looking forward to our ever growing partnership." 

And once again, it is very obvious to Simon that Magnus is not talking to him. 

\--

Alec unfortunately can't stay too long – he's got things to do, people to meet since he’s back in New York – and in a flash, he’s out the door and flying down 4th Avenue (the Shadow world’s best kept secret) on the ricketiest old bicycle that teeters under his weight. Simon marks that as his own cue to leave – but before he can make his own exit, Magnus catches his arm. 

“Stay,” Magnus commands. His eyes flash with warning, turning molten gold. 

And that’s how Simon is forcibly roped into being led by Magnus around the various floors of Pandemonium. 

They start their tour from the 15th floor, Pandemonium's food hall. It’s a long way down.

"So, about Alec," Magnus starts. 

Simon stares longingly out of one of the gilded balconies, contemplating which is worse: surviving a 15-story fall, or the second-hand embarrassment that’s likely to come out of having this conversation. 

"How did you meet him?" Magnus presses. They pass by a counter that seems to be selling preserved food items, except there's something in the window case that looks remarkably like marbles or frog eyes, Simon _still_ can't tell. 

"He's a Lightwood sibling. I know his sister and brother, Izzy and Jace? Isabelle and Jonathan? They introduced me." Simon eyes dart over to another display, and holy shit, is that a pay-by-the-pound bin of tarantula legs? 

Magnus stops in his tracks and Simon almost collides into him. "You mean, that piece of smoking hot ass is _Alexander Lightwood_? The Shadow world's darling who created the TSWE?"

Simon nods distractedly. He swears he just saw something in the counter move. 

Magnus is pensive for a moment, before he starts walking again and signals for Simon to follow. "Come." 

As they walk through the maze of the food hall, Magnus slows down in front of a particular counter and gestures to the person manning the till. The associate scrambles for a moment, and then proceeds to pull the most elaborate pastry from the display, a mountain of a dessert that's piled high with melted chocolate, fresh cream, and choux. Magnus nods his head towards Simon, indicating he should take it. "Mini-croquembouche. Eat."

It's not mini. Simon struggles to hold the thing while he and Magnus keep walking. 

"Is he single?" Magnus asks bluntly as they ride an escalator downwards. 

Simon almost collides face-first into his pastry. He sputters, "How would I know?"

Magnus keeps going with his questioning. "What does he like?" Simon sees him eying one a store on the right that retails men's clothing. There's a mannequin lounging in the window, decked out only in a pair of boxer briefs and an open bathrobe. 

"I dunno. Yams, probably." 

Magnus gives him an incredulous look before they descend down another escalator. "Do you think he would like being wined and dined at _Le Bernadin_? Or should I get him a watch? A yacht?" 

Simon frowns – why didn't Magnus offer him a yacht? "Magnus, I can tell you with 100% certainty that Alec doesn't like those things. He likes the environment. He lives in a cabin. He grows _yams_."

Magnus continues to pepper questions at Simon for the next two hours, trying to figure out Alec's likes, dislikes, and his measurements (Simon is deeply disturbed by the end of it). He drags Simon from floor to floor, and by the time they reach Pandemonium's main entrance, Simon is a completely new man – he's wearing a completely different outfit from the morning, he's bought a new pair of running shoes emblazoned with 'heighted speed' rune decals (Jace was going to be so jealous), and his backpack is filled with boxes of Count Chocula cereal that claim to be "part of any complete delicious and nutritious vampiric breakfast, contributing to up to 40% of your daily blood intake" (in the end, he decides to buy one for Raphael too). Magnus has also loaded him up with a Pandemonium tote bag chock full of free samples, including those super slick nail wraps, which he swears are gifts for Izzy and Clary. He swears.

"Give me his phone number," Magnus says as they finally reach the first floor, and they strode past what can only be described as a store _selling real-life miniature animals_. 

"…Sorry?" Simon is, understandably, doing a double take at that miniatures store.

Magnus turns to face Simon, right in front of the massive white marble fountain in the foyer that depicts a group of warlock statues slaying a demon. "Give me Alexander Lightwood's phone number, and I can promise you that these stele dongles will be flying off the shelves in the next four months." 

The demon fountain evidently agrees with Magnus as it decides, at that very moment, to shoot a spray of water from its mouth, high into the air. 

And that's how Simon manages to secure one of the most elaborate displays during the holiday season, placed right in the coveted spot of Pandemonium's foyer, featuring an eight-foot tall badass dinosaur constructed of only stele dongles that breathes magical non-burning fire as shoppers walk past. 

\--

Another week goes by, and for Simon, everything is looking up. While most of his experiences in the Shadow world have either fallen somewhere in between ridiculously hyperbolic (the gum thing) and terrifyingly morbid (the vampire problem), he’s glad that he’ll have this one positive moment to remember for his time here, gallivanting around in the Shadow world. 

He’s a _motherfucking entrepreneur_ , goddamn it, who would have thought? Simon Lewis. Creator of the stele dongle. He just wants to package it, frame it, and hang it on his wall to dry.

As the elevator dings announcing his arrival at Magnus’ penthouse office, Simon has a clear skip in his step and a whistle on his lips. He strides into Magnus’ office once more, this time like he owns the place, waving a letter. "Hey Alec, you here? I think the patent office accepted my application, but does this mean I have to pay another $400 to trademark 'stele dongle' or–" 

When Simon pushes past the door, he sees Alec sitting at the desk with Magnus in his lap. Magnus' fingers are cupping Alec’s cheek, while Alec's attention is purely on Magnus, his face very close as he whispers something into Magnus’ ear.

Simon lets out a noise.

At the sound of Simon’s distressed wail, both Magnus and Alec snap to face him.

“Board meeting,” Magnus curtly says, and with a wave of his hand, magically slams the door in Simon’s face.

Right. Board meeting. 

\--

In the course of the following year, Simon decides that Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane are fucking magic together. And Simon doesn't mean that in a sex way (even though they were totally screwing each other's brains out – there were way too many board meetings scheduled into Alec' calendar for Simon not to notice), but he foremostly means it in the business sense, because Simon Lewis and his stele dongle are _famous_. 

"What about a television show?" Magnus one day asks, as he lounges on Alec's couch, snuggled into a patterned wool blanket that, Simon swears, wasn't there last week. Simon and Magnus are talking in Alec's living room, as Alec roots around in his garden for fresh tarragon. Alec's making soup. 

"I don't know, Magnus. Aren't we pushing it? Even though you're a mastermind at this kind of thing, I don't think people are going to buy a television show centered around stele dongles." Simon's company is worth millions now, and he's just recently outfitted his boathouse with a Jacuzzi – he doesn't want to push his luck or anything. 

Magnus' eyes are drawn to Alec through the patio doors, as Alec bends over to pull something out of the ground. "I'm sure we'll think of something," Magnus murmurs absently. 

To this, Simon sighs. There's absolutely no way that the stele dongle can have its own television show. 

But the next thing he knows, the stele dongle has its own children's television series (that stresses the importance of preparation, downworlder relations, and environmental reform to its young audience – it's amazing), there's even a spin-off movie in the works, and… he wrote a book. Simon Lewis, who nearly failed English in eleventh grade, _wrote a book._

"So what do you attribute to your success to, Simon?" the interviewer asks, holding up a copy of his book, _Simon Lewis, You Only Live Twice_. The cover has an image of Simon's grayscale headshot, wearing a black turtleneck and with a hand to his chin, as if he's deep in thought. "Not many people make such a big impact on the Shadow world in such a short time."

"Friends," Simon immediately says, and he looks behind the cameras to spot Clary, Jace, Izzy, Alec, and Magnus watching him from the green room. 

Jace pretends to gag. 

"Friends," Simon repeats, and then adds, "And always keeping in the back of my mind that I'm just a mundane guy living a mundane day in a mundane world, with mundane solutions to some of the Shadow world's most complex problems."

There's a dramatic pause.

"That's bullshit," one of his “friends” yells from the back. 

But before Simon can respond with his own quipping remark, he hears a crash coming from their direction. He can hear Clary yelling, "Are you okay, Izzy? I swear to god, Jace, you need to keep your seraph blade in check – not hanging out all over the place! It's dangerous – if only there was a more compact way to store these things– " 

And then suddenly, the lightbulb goes off and Simon Lewis gets his next big idea.

**Author's Note:**

> Send an email to steledongle@gmail.com. I dare you.
> 
> Hope you liked it! Comments are always appreciated :)


End file.
